


The Way We Were

by ConjuringWords



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Feels, Break Up, Depressed Harry, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Excessive Drinking, Feels, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Heartache, Heartbreak, Heartbreaking, Heartbroken Harry, Heavy Angst, Heavy Drinking, Implied Relationships, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Not Happy, Past Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Past Relationship(s), Post-Break Up, Sad Harry, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23438917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConjuringWords/pseuds/ConjuringWords
Summary: He sat in a dark room and drank whiskey, trying to pick up the pieces of his broken heart. Haunted by the memories of a love that fell away. Wondering if there was anything he could have done differently.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter
Kudos: 19





	The Way We Were

**Author's Note:**

> So Angst Muse is in total control tonight. While trying write something else, Muse wouldn't cooperate. Instead I wrote this. It's fairly depressing. I *may* add to this at some point but for now I consider this complete. As always your comments, kudos, and support are very appreciated. Hope all is well in Quarantine Land.

He sits in the dark drawing room on the second floor, no light but that of the silver moonshine coming in through one of the windows that has long since lost it’s curtains. The room is musty and dank, unused. The furniture is all covered with sheets, which are all covered in a fine layer of dust. No one has been in this room or the entire house for a long number of years, not since during the war and that was going on twenty years now. 

The glass in his hand clinks gently with the never melting ice in it, the amber liquid smoking slightly. He figures no one will look for him here. Why would they? They think he sold the place years ago. He hadn’t of course, no matter how much he hated all the memories that haunted this house. It was still the only connection to his godfather he had. He just couldn’t let it go. So he kept it, even though no one lived or stayed in it. 

Instead he is here, drinking firewhisky alone, except for the ghosts that haunt his memories. And maybe the house. He’s never been really sure. He sees silver bright eyes, glowing with amusement, a playful smirk on full, pink lips. And the most amazing laugh, deep and rich and full. He misses it. Misses the man behind it all. 

If he focuses enough through the haze of alcohol, he can picture him, standing before him, hands on hips, one eyebrow arched. Blonde hair disheveled from running his hands through it all day. 

Can almost feel the pressure of lips on his as the man leans down to him where he sits, giving him the softest of kisses, while running the tips of fingers, stained with ink, down the side of his face, curling them around his cheek and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

He can still taste the flavor of the man on his taste buds as their tongues tangle. He takes another drink of firewhisky. That’s all gone now. The man is gone. Left him after things began to sour between them. When the passion that had fueled their couplings had turned to fights once more. Something had fractured between them, irreparably so. 

Bags were packed, notes were left and doors were closed, the locks firmly in place. No way to enter ever again. Locked out forever.

So here he sat, drinking away his pain, but only succeeding in making the ache worse, the drowning sensation intensify. He would never get to kiss him again. Never get to hold him in his arms again. Never get to make love to him again. They’d never wake up tangled together in the mornings again, smiling and kissing each other good morning. No one complaints about getting up for work. No more sharing the shower, with the excuse of saving water and time, when the truth was neither of those things, when the real reason was so they could have sex in the shower. 

No more shared coffees over the  _ Daily Prophet _ , snorting at the ridiculous headlines and speculations about their relationship. It was all gone, burned to ashes and blown away on a bitterly cold wind like it never existed in the first place.

He wonders idly if the rooms upstairs are suitable for sleeping in but rejects the idea of even getting up to go upstairs. He takes another swallow of whisky and drifts into his memories.

_ He got up first that morning, which was unusual but not out of place when his boyfriend had worked the late shift, which seemed to be more often lately. Harry had gotten used to going to bed alone most nights and waking up first in the mornings, going about his routine and leaving for work before his lover woke up. He’d lost track of the last time they’d spent more than a few minutes together. He tried not to think about what that meant. _ __

_ Slipping from bed, Harry stretched as he stood up before making his way to the bathroom. As he waited for the water to get hot in the shower, he used the loo and brushed his teeth. As he looked at himself in the mirror, Harry noted how tired he looked, despite sleeping well the night before for once. And if that sleep had been potion assisted, well no one but him needed to know. He looked as if he’d aged 10 years in the span of a few months. _

_ He tried not to think about that either. _

_ Except deep down he knew better. Knew that things were beginning to unravel.  _

_ Sighing, he stepped into the shower with a heavy feeling in his stomach and deep ache in his heart. He had a bad feeling today was going to be bad. _

_ Later, he would scoff at that when it turned out to be not only bad, but devastating and heartbreaking.  _

_ He spotted the note on the kitchen table as he stepped out of the Floo that night. The sight of it sent dread through him and he knew without a doubt what it would say. Part of him felt relief that he wouldn’t have to face him face to face. But a bigger part of him was angry. Angry that he had just fucking LEFT A NOTE instead of being man enough to say goodbye in person. _

_ Harry knew though, that had he been confronted with his now former lover he would have begged and pleaded for him to stay and then he would have gotten angry when instead he would have just left. Left Harry behind, trying to reclaim the broken pieces of his heart. _

His cheeks were wet with his spilled tears when he came back to himself. His heart ached and he felt broken. Broken in a way that he didn’t think anything would ever fix. 

And he wondered for the millionth time since finding that note, if there wasn’t something he could have done differently. If there was something he could have changed. Lifting the glass to his lips he takes another deep swallow of whisky and drifts back into his memories.

_ He still remembers the moment he knew he’d fallen in love. It was like yesterday. And maybe it was just yesterday. All his new lover had been doing was writing a letter, that’s all. Something he’d done at least a million times before now. There was just something different about this time. Maybe it was the way he cocked his head to the side, contemplating the words already lining up in neat rows across the parchment. Or maybe the way he would smooth the parchment before he started writing. The smudge of ink on his nose from absentmindedly scratching it with ink stained fingers.  _

_ Whatever it was, it had only taken a moment for Harry to realize he had fallen. Fallen hard for this beautiful man that in the shortest amount of time had upended his life in the best possible way. And he wanted to keep it safe, keep secret for the world at large. The world that still thought it owned him.  _

_ And when, later, they finally shared their first kiss, it was everything he thought it would be and more. It was like coming home.  _

He was sobbing now, remembering how free and wonderful he had felt in that moment of knowing and then in the feeling having it reciprocated. How happy they had been for those five years, until it all fell apart. Now there was nothing but an empty aching void inside him. 

The glass touched his lips and he took another drink, maybe if he tried harder he could forget it all. Forget his heartache, forget that he had ever dared to love anyone. Let alone Draco Malfoy. 


End file.
